


But Fate? Fate is tricky...

by The_Scarlet_Speedster



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Denial of Feelings, I Tried, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Please Don't Hate Me, Power Dynamics, The fabric of space and time has been cut up and served like sushi, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, angst angst and more angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Scarlet_Speedster/pseuds/The_Scarlet_Speedster
Summary: The Flash is dead. Eobard Thawne has achieved his ultimate goal- and the world is at his feet heralding him as the hero he pretends to be. But nothing good lasts forever- and as fate would have it, his past comes back to haunt him. It only complicates things that it's the boyish face of Barry Allen that he finds himself haunted by.





	But Fate? Fate is tricky...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/gifts), [NevermindNostalgia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevermindNostalgia/gifts).



> The idea for this story came from a roleplay that I started with NevermindNostalgia. I was desperate to finish the idea floating around in my head so onto AO3 I stumbled.
> 
> Also... elrhiarhodan is an AMAZING author who really inspires me to write as beautifully as she does. 
> 
> That being said I dedicate this work to elrhiarhodan and NevermindNostalgia for inspiring me to write.

Light- brilliant light, a shower that shines so brightly it hurts to gaze into- is not a failsafe; where broad maple leaves coast in the sun, there lain barren roots spidered deep within the earth. 

The earth lost one of its sources of light many, many years ago. Barry was his name. He was not the haunting visage of the impassive Flash nor the fiery youth with scorn burning bright in his eyes. No, Barry Allen had been a marvel- a blank slate, a boy with a clever, clever mind, and the tremor of humanity`s future rushing lightning quick in his veins. 

Eobard will never forget the final moments of sheer, blissful elevation as he watched that little spark fade out of his eyes.

He`ll never forget the moment after, either; when he realized that, after so many years spent chasing in the Flash`s jittery shadow, there was nothing left. That night, he`d inadvertently carved a hole in his chest, branding him with his enemy`s mark forever. 

Because the Flash couldn`t die. No, the icon was too deeply ingrained in the far reaches of history, and a world without its scarlet protector would tumble out of control quickly. The world, however, did not need Barry Allen to be that light, even if Eobard did.

The taste of heroism was an intoxicating drug- a cocktail of effervescence and toxicity molded into one. He`s heralded as a hero of Central, a god among men, and it would delight him under different circumstances. Events have shifted drastically, and damage control has been difficult. His speed- his speed, what an enrapturing little gift it is- is fleeting. His connection to the speedforce, or rather what’s left of it after he killed its campion, is no longer without limits. And while Eobard has taken up the mantel of The Flash- he is no Barry Allen. The speedforce that rushes through his veins, the lightning that sparks red instead of gold as he runs, will never be enough to satiate the hunger of the beast. The speedforce will not, and cannot- regenerate itself from his strides. His connection, as well as that of every speedster in the multiverse- has become labored with the multitude of those drawing upon the same power source. It only has so much to offer… and it’s on a first come first serve basis. It’s advantageous that Eobard’s speed is reversed, but this only places him a head higher than his competition- nothing more. 

It`s late tonight. The fat, jolly moon is drooping low in the sky, tendrils of light seeping from the heavens to cast Central City in a warm, milky glow. Its night life is sluggish but still very much alive and something is wrong. He doesn`t understand it, but he can feel it in the way his faded connection to the building blocks of motion reverberates under his skin. It`s what has him out on this lonely, frigid night, underneath the smog and stars. He`s suited up and oddly twitchy. 

He's searched the city several times in the last half hour, tearing through the streets in pursuit of what? He doesn’t know. Each time he passes by, and it’s been exactly twenty-two times that he’s raced past the old haunt of his enemy, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. Perhaps it’s because he’s been rather reminiscent of late, of the days before, but there is an itch, an unbearable itch that tells him otherwise. As he circles around the once magnificent lab, it’s been abandoned for centuries- the crumbling infrastructure hinting at the damage that lay within its walls- memories of all that had been said and done there flittered though his mind. Faces of those whose trust he’d gained- of those who he betrayed. Words he’d both spoken and withheld. It was almost supernatural, as ghosts of the past came calling- seeking what? Again, Eobard did not know. If it was retribution only disappointment awaited them. He regretted nothing- he did only what was necessary. He continued his furious pace putting distance between himself and the ghosts. They’d fade with time, he was sure, everything eventually did.

As the night drew on the moon become veiled in dark clouds that billowed out and curved into obscure shapes. They held a dark and sinister tone, again hinting that something was not quite right in the City of Central- ominous foretellers. The sky was now not only deprived of its greater light but of its lesser ones as well. Not a single ray of light was visible from the multitude of stars that lay hidden behind the smoky black curtain. The frigid air took on a new dimension, chilling the speedster to the bone despite the kinetic energy his speed generated. The clouds collided with one another and a roll of thunder echoed- the storm would blow across the city within a few minutes, Eobard was sure. The idea of returning to his extravagantly furnished loft, slipping off his suit, stepping into a steaming bath with a wine glass in hand... it was almost enough to make him turn away from this voluntary goose chase in the suburban neighborhood in which he currently found himself- but that foreboding itch urged him to do otherwise. 

Fate would have it, Eobard mused, that the middle of the street in which he currently stood would be the exact street in which he stood back on that eventful night so many years ago… as he’d watched the Allen family go through their bedtime rituals. The night that he’d murdered Nora Allen. The night little Barry Allen’s obsession with the impossible would first manifest as ‘the man in yellow.’

And then the impossible happens. There is a dark, echoing rush of motion and speed and ozone crashing his senses, and like the scene out of a poorly funded horror movie, the man he`d spent the most part of his life fixated by appears out of thin air, chucked out of a swath of pulsating blue vortex. He appears to be in roughly the same shape as Eobard left him fifteen years ago.

Eobard nearly chokes. "Don`t tell me— you really are impossible to kill."

The Scarlet Speedster`s expression gave away nothing as his eyes- eyes that were a few shades darker than their usual hue- bore into the man, though at this point Barry hardly considered him a human being after the atrocities he`d committed, standing before him.

He`d found his target- or rather his target had found him- but it didn`t really matter, did it? Fate was funny like that. It was always playing games, twisting, churning, bending humanity to its whim. It couldn`t decipher right and wrong because it was too lost in its own selfish desires to care. In many ways, it resembled the man who was receiving the judgmental glare.

When Barry spoke, his voice was void of emotion- or rather Eobard knew he`d forced himself to push the raging emotions that filled him down. The scarlet hero couldn`t afford to be anything but pragmatic, couldn`t allow himself to become distracted... because oh, it would be easy to lose himself to the anger, the rage, the hurt, the betrayal, that was burning through his veins. "Well, I`ve always been impossible haven`t I?" 

He hasn`t changed in the least Eobard thought- all long, lanky limbs and furious eyes reminiscent of days long past. Eobard`s lips purse firmly. There`s something dark and nasty brewing under his skin, but a flutter of light tentatively curls around his dampened soul. It`s a strange mixture. 

"Some might call you a calamity," Eobard quips snidely, sorely off of his game now more than ever. The sensation of another speedster in the vicinity was electrifying. All of his interactions with the Flash had been anchored in miles of forethought, but tonight, the ball is not in his court. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a meeting with the walking dead?" 

A bitter laugh escaped Barry`s lips, as his shook his head ever so slightly from side to side. "That`s exactly it- I`m not dead. Not yet."

The younger of the two swallowed, the tension between the them was palpable- and standing here in front of him? It was a wonder that Barry hadn`t thrown caution completely to the wind and stated his reason for coming here- trespassing into Eobard's domain. He would guess that it somehow involved resetting a timeline- but impatient as The Flash was to change his future he knew he had to play his cards. Eobard knew the effort that it took- he’d practiced it himself for over fifteen long years. That being said… Eobard was still off balance- Barry`s very presence here was clearly something he hadn`t expected. And, why would he? Eobard had ripped his heart out- there was no coming back from that. 

Barry said nothing more- just closed the distance between himself and the man in yellow, golden lightning caressing his lean muscled body as it crackled softly. His eyes were trained on the man`s face as he pressed his lips forcefully against Eobard`s in a vengeful kiss.

Allen’s righteous fury is palpable in its nature, electric and sizzling like a fried power outlet, and burning sensation of it tingles under his skin as their lips press together. It’s an audacious collision of teeth and a metastasizing of heat and thunder, and it corrodes. His mouth is sharp, and Eobard’s taken abruptly off guard, momentarily lost in the bitter sensation of petty things like want and need. His response is immediate, trained and compulsive, losing himself in the taste of Allen’s mouth. It's something he is all too familiar with.

His ghost never left him, Eobard thinks dizzyingly, furiously. Instead, the Flash took shelter inside of his ribcage and refused to leave like a parasite, leeching away at his lifeblood and leaving behind a withered husk of a human. It ignites a fire of rage. 

Allen’s ragged body is slammed into the side of an aging building that groans under the sudden force, and sheer hate flares luminescent red in his eyes. Eobard’s grip on his shoulders is heavy and bruising. “What do you want from me, Flash?”

Barry grimaced at the sensation as his body was slammed roughly against the hard concrete wall- the speedster hadn`t braced himself for the impact- and a low groan slipped out of his slightly parted lips. He hadn`t expected that reaction from Eobard, clearly- somewhere in his mind he`d probably discarded the possibility that the kiss would only serve to aggravate the speedster. If anything, the man clad in yellow deduced the kiss was meant to make him feel guilty. To remind of what he'd lost the night he'd plunged his hand, shimmering with red electricity, through the soft organ that thumped erratically in Barry's chest as it was shredded to a bloody mass of unrecognizable tissue. 

When Barry looked up at Eobard, he looked deep into eyes that glowed red, the color could only be considered demonic, and matched their intensity with his own lightning filled pupils. He voice was low, forcing Eobard to listen carefully to each word when he spoke, and each word was filled with venom- as if it physically hurt Barry to speak them. "It`s not... a want. I need you to help me change the timeline."


End file.
